


The Shadow of the Beast

by monicawoe



Series: Pattern Recognition [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Hannibal (TV) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Animal Transformation, Demon Blood, Gen, Hallucinations, Sam Winchester’s Demonic Powers, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 20:34:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13578444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monicawoe/pseuds/monicawoe
Summary: Will Graham escapes the Baltimore Institute for the Criminally Insane, after being wrongfully imprisoned for crimes Hannibal Lecter committed.Sam Winchester, after freeing Lucifer and the events in River Pass, Colorado, has decided he can't be trusted, and has left his brother Dean behind.Will and Sam’s paths cross again, as they’re both forced to confront their darker instincts.(set during early season 5 of Supernatural, and early season 2 of Hannibal)





	The Shadow of the Beast

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to my lovely beta quickreaver !

Will took a shallow breath, steadying his racing heart, and pushed open the door to the 24-hour laundromat. It was far from an ideal place to stop, but it was automated, empty, and if he wanted to drop off the radar, he needed clothing that wasn’t a prison jumpsuit. So in he went, shrugging off trepidation and cold beads of sweat.

The door closed behind him: Will let out another slow breath. And then a man stood up. Will hadn’t seen him there, crouching between two rows of machines. He was tall, with shoulder-length hair; his broad back was turned to Will and he was too busy sorting his laundry to even spare Will a glance. Either that, or he'd noticed him already and chose to ignore him.

As quietly as he could, Will moved to the dryers on his side of the room, looking for one that was full but cold, that somebody had forgotten about and abandoned, whether intentionally or not. He found one and peeked inside, scanning the belongings—a mix of toddler footie pajamas, petite sun-dresses and underwear. Nothing he could make use of. Discreetly, he moved to the next dryer, which was still spinning, and tried to make out what was inside.

The door slammed open, setting Will's heart pounding again. The newcomers looked ordinary enough at first: two middle-aged women and a man in his twenties. But something about them was off: all three of them had solid black eyes.

"Sam Winchester," one of the women said, as she came to stand across from him, the other two flanking her. "You're a hard one to track down."

Will suppressed a gasp as his mind went into overdrive, spitting out memories of his last encounter with Sam months ago: the ritualistic crime scene, a demon possessing a murder victim and then Jack. He’d seen what the Winchesters were capable of, but that was against one demon. Now there were three, and the other Winchester brother was nowhere to be seen.

The washing machine door clicked shut, and Sam turned to face the demons, mouth set in a grim line. His eyes flicked over to Will, and that one look was an acknowledgment, a greeting and an apology all in one.

"Luckily, you left us a trail of bread-crumbs," the black-eyed man said, smiling. "Like this poor, confused FedEx worker.” He pointed his thumbs inwards at his chest.” Just two days out of the hospital and bam, he gets a new tenant."

Sam’s jaw twitched. It was a tiny, ghost of a movement, but Will caught it.

"That's right, Sam, you recognize all of them don't you?” The woman across from him smirked, taking a step closer as she traced her hands down her body. "You saved this one two weeks ago. Must've felt pretty good about yourself, huh? Atoning for your past transgressions, saving the innocent." She thrust out her hand and Sam flew back, struck by an invisible force, crashing against the washing machines behind him. He landed on his hands and knees, but with another push of her hand, Sam was picked back up and slammed against the machines again, arms pinned at his sides. “But then you’ve got a whole...laundry list of sins, don’t you?”

A moment later, when the shock started to wear off, Will made a move, sprinting for the door. It was futile, but he had to try at least. He was inches away when a blast of force flung him through the air, flattening him against the window-wall. It cracked where the back of his skull impacted, leaving Will momentarily blinded.

The FedEx worker stared up at Will. "No, no, _stay_. I insist. It'll be worth the price of admission," he said, flatly. "Promise."

Will hung, suspended impossibly two feet off the ground. The rubber heel of his boot squeaked as he tried to find purchase, but beyond that he couldn't move a muscle, felt the pressure bearing down on his chest, making it difficult to breathe.

"Let him go," Sam said, voice steady. And he looked as calm as he sounded, not paralyzed by fear as he should have been. He'd gone through this before. Enough times then, that it wasn't surprising. Will tried to latch onto Sam’s calm, struggling to summon up his own.

"You're in no position to make demands, Winchester," the possessed man said.

"That a fact?" Sam asked. “You know what I can do.”

“What you _could_ do. Word on the street says you lost it all. No more Ruby. No more powers.”

“Ding-dong the witch is dead,” the woman sing-songed. “You really think you’re gonna stop us all with devil’s traps and exorcisms? Please.”

"Sure you want to test that theory?" Sam shot back.

"Yeah, pretty sure. Here's the thing, _Sammy_. The last demon in this body was my sister. And you sent her back to Hell. We finally get out after decades—after centuries—and you send us back? We're not gonna stand for that. Especially now that our god walks the Earth.”

“Thanks to you,” the other woman said. “So we’re asking you nicely. Stop."

"Never," Sam said. And now his voice was wavering. They were getting to him. Will couldn’t make sense of what they were talking about, but Sam’s warring emotions told a whole novel of pain. He hid it quickly, though. “I’ll send every last one of you back. Your ‘god’ included.”

"Good luck with that,” the demon across from him said. “Boss says we can’t kill you. But everyone else is fair game. So here’s the deal: from here on out you don't get to save anyone. Not the delivery man, not the nice waitress, not the schoolteacher." She winked at him. "Not even your brother. We’ll find him, too."

That got Sam's attention. His fists clenched and his nostrils flared, and for just a moment, Will could've sworn he saw Sam’s arm pull up and away from the machine it was pinned against.

But the woman didn't notice, too caught up in her speech. She crouched down in front of him, put her hand on his cheek and grinned. "The new house rule is ‘no survivors’. We set up shop, we kill them. Right away."

Sam stared her down. "That so?"

"Yeah, champ, it is." She dropped her hand down to his throat and squeezed, lifting him up until his knees came off the floor—an unnatural display of strength from somebody her size. “Kill his little friend.”

The pressure in Will’s chest grew as an invisible hand wrapped itself around his neck and another closed around his heart. The two other demons were walking toward him. The man had his hand stretched out and as he brought his fingers in to make a fist, the pressure on Will’s throat grew. His vision began to spark and his heels scrabbled uselessly against the glass.

The demon holding Sam was reveling in crushing his windpipe, so caught up she didn't notice Sam's hand moving—inching towards the sheath on his belt, didn't notice him draw the slim blade out. He brought it up sharply, in a tight, smooth arc, stabbing her in the wrist.

“Fuck!” she said, yanking her arm back, but Sam moved quickly, grabbed her before she could get out of reach and latched onto the wound.

Will watched, intrigued and horrified, as Sam drank in mouthfuls of her blood. The two demons moving toward Will were closer now, but Sam held up a hand and flung them away, just as they'd done minutes earlier. He'd gained their power by drinking their blood.

Will fell, the hold on him instantly released, and he crashed down on the hard cement. He landed at a nasty angle, left ankle taking the brunt of his weight. At the last second, he threw his arms up, instinctively protecting his face, but bashing his elbow in the process.

The woman—the demon—Sam was drinking from had gone rigid, locked in place like Will and Sam had been moments earlier, though it was clear by her expression that she was struggling to get away. But she couldn't.

Sam was focused on the other two, now pinned to the back wall above the dryers. He pushed his hand farther, palm out, fingers spread wide, and the two demons began to glow, lighting up from the inside. Their skulls flashed within their backlit skin and they cried out in pain, as light streamed from their eyes and open mouths.

The two fell, one slamming his head on the dryer before hitting the floor lifelessly. Sam pulled back from the woman's arm, his mouth blood-stained. “Guess I should set some new rules, too.” He pressed his palm to the top of her head and she lit up inside just like the other two had, that same terrible yellow light exploding out from her eyes and mouth.

The woman's now-empty body collapsed. Sam caught her and lowered her gently to the floor.

Will let out a shaking breath, drawing Sam’s attention. For a second, Will was trapped by the wolfish gleam of Sam’s eyes, and his bloodied mouth made it clear he was just as much a predator.

But the rage left Sam as quickly as it had come and shame took its place. Sam averted his eyes, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “You okay?” he asked, still not looking at Will.

“Yeah I uh...think I messed up my ankle, though.”

Sam threw a glance at his leg. “Can you walk?”

Will tried to push himself to his feet, ignoring the pain, but failed rather miserably when he put weight on his left foot.

“Gimme a minute,” Sam said. He grabbed a duffel bag from the table, opened the dryer he’d been pinned to minutes earlier, and stuffed its contents into the bag. Zipping it closed, he walked back to Will and held out his hand. ”We need to leave.”

Will took his hand and nearly lost his balance as Sam pulled him easily up to standing. With Sam’s arm looped around Will’s waist, they maneuvered through the door and out into the parking lot, to an old Dodge Charger.

“Need a ride?” Sam asked, opening the car’s locks by remote.

“That’s okay, I’ll...I’ll find a cab.” Will swallowed. Months ago, he would’ve trusted Sam, but after what he’d seen tonight, and after all the people he’d trusted had abandoned him, he just didn’t have any trust left to give. Then again, he also didn’t have a whole lot of other options.

“Dressed like that?” Sam asked, eyebrow cocked. “There’s some spare clothes in the back.” Sam opened the rear door and grabbed a duffel bag, slammed the door shut again and opened the passenger side door, gesturing for Will to sit. “Plus, you sprained your ankle. Trust me. I’ve done it enough to know. I’ll take you to the motel I’m staying at. There’s one near-sighted guy at the front desk and he naps most of the time.”

Will grimaced and nodded in agreement, climbing into the car, bracing against the frame as he lowered himself into the seat. His ankle throbbed as he tried to find a comfortable spot to settle it.

Sam set the duffel bag on Will’s lap.“Help yourself. There’s some shirts, the pants won’t fit you, but we can roll up the legs or cut ‘em.” Starting the car, Sam paused to check his face in the side mirror, scraping his knuckles against the still-bloodied corners of his mouth until they were clean, cheeks flushing to the tips of his ears.

As they pulled out onto the highway, Will kept his eyes on the flannel shirts in the bag. “So that’s where your power comes from?”

Sam nodded.

“Would the blood give anyone that power?”

“No.”

“Does your brother know about the blood?”

Sam’s hands clenched the wheel tighter.

“Sorry, ignore that.” Will chewed on his lip. “I don’t always have the right filters. In my line of work, it’s usually more efficient to be blunt.”

“No, it’s okay. He knows.”

“Is that why you’re alone?”

“That’s part of it.” Sam’s voice quavered, almost imperceptibly so. “But that’s not the only reason.”

They both stayed silent for the rest of the trip.

#

“Here,” Sam said, handing Will the hand-towel filled with ice. “It’ll help with the swelling.”

“Thanks.” Will accepted the bundle gratefully and debated for a moment if he should rest it against his bruised neck first. His ankle throbbed in protest and so Will set it there, resting the ice bundle between his foot and the back of the chair he’d propped his leg up on. Suppressing a wince, he leaned back in his own chair and continued studying Sam.

It took time to understand people. Will had learned the minds of some truly disturbed and twisted souls—in some cases, far too quickly. But with Sam, every small understanding brought with it a dozen more questions.

Their encounter at the church months ago, and everything that came with it, like Jack being possessed and then exorcised by Sam, had changed Will’s whole worldview. Up until then, his world, though terrifying, was limited by human depravity, and he had to redraw and extend those boundaries with every new horrific murder he studied. But after Sam, after seeing demon possession and telekinesis, after seeing a portal to Hell crack open, Will had to revise his entire book of rules. He was still missing several chapters.

“Beer or water?” Sam asked as he grabbed a bottle from the cooler.

“Water.”

“So,” Sam set a bottle in front of Will, and sat down across from him, “where did you get the jumpsuit?”

Will looked down at the blue prison-wear. “I was incarcerated at the Baltimore Institute for the Criminally Insane.”

“Incarcerated for what?” Sam asked, nonplussed.

“For getting too close to a very intelligent psychopath,” Will said, bitterly.

“You were framed?”

“Exquisitely.” Will nodded. "By Hannibal Lecter."

Sam took a pull from his beer bottle and set it down without making the slightest clink. “It’ll be harder to plead your case now that you’ve broken out,” Sam said, “but not impossible.”

“I didn’t commit the crimes I was sentenced for,” Will said, trying to keep his voice steady, “but...I’m not certain there’s a case for my continued freedom.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I’ve...killed.”

Sam scoffed, took a drink. “Did they deserve it?”

“Oh yes.” Will chewed on his lip. “But, that doesn’t absolve me from what I’ve done.”

“Yeah.” Sam looked down at the table, tracing his long fingers over the jagged knife-groove someone had left in the pressboard. “I’m not sure absolution exists for any of us.” He looked back up at Will. “But even without you telling me the details, I can tell you that I’ve done far, far worse.”

Will’s reflex reaction was to dispute that statement: a social nicety he’d observed often enough to know it was expected. Except that Sam’s tone, and everything he’d done earlier that night, made his words heavier and indisputable. “What did you do?” he asked instead.

Sam’s eyes flicked up, catching Will’s. “I started the Apocalypse.”

“Oh.” Will shifted in his seat. “On purpose?”

Sam’s nostrils flared, and he took a deeper pull of his beer, draining the rest of the bottle in one long draw.

“Not on purpose,” Will said. “You were tricked.”

“Manipulated. Exquisitely,” Sam said, standing. He brought his empty bottle to the counter and set it down hard. “I’m taking a shower. Bed by the door is mine.”

#

 Will slept uneasily, plagued by red-stained dreams that smelled of earth and meat. When he woke, Sam’s bed was made with perfect, military corners, and Sam himself was nowhere to be seen.

For a few moments, Will entertained the thought that Sam had left, and couldn’t decide if he should feel relieved or disappointed. Sam had a terrifying side, but despite that, Will’s sense of kinship with Sam had only grown.

His brain helpfully replayed everything he’d read about the Winchester brothers in their FBI files: highly dangerous, trained by an equally dangerous father (now deceased), involved in multiple crimes that indicated a likely religious psychosis. That last point had been disproven. Demons were real enough, as was what Sam could do. And Sam was most definitely dangerous, even without the blood. But the world was teeming with dangerous people, and sometimes they hid in plain sight, as Will had been forced to learn firsthand.

The motel door opened and Sam walked in, carrying a bag of food. Bacon, egg and coffee scents wafted towards Will and he sat up, blinking his eyes open.

“Breakfast?” Sam asked.

#

“You thought you we doing the right thing.” Will set his plastic fork on his empty plate.

“I freed _Lucifer_.” Sam kept his eyes focused on the dregs of his coffee. “Because I was so caught up in feeling like I could—” he chewed on his lip, before continuing, “—like I could do some good with this power. And that maybe, if I could stop him from rising, I could prove that I wasn’t...just another monster.”

Will nodded. “It’s my job to get in the heads of monsters.”

“Human ones.”

“Is there really a difference?”

Sam frowned. “I used to think so.”

“The most grotesque murders I’ve seen were all committed by humans. We are an abhorrent, needlessly violent animal.” Will smiled sadly at Sam. “But I’m not afraid of what’s in your head, Sam.”

Eyes glassy, Sam blinked, sniffling once as he started to clean up the empty cups and plates. His hands were shaking.

For a moment, Will thought it was an emotional response, but Sam’s knee buckled slightly on his way to the trash can, and he stopped there, resting his hand on the wall.

“You okay?” Will asked. He’d seen the symptoms Sam was exhibiting—the shakiness, the headache tension-lines in his face, the sallow tint to his skin—enough to know what he was looking at.

Sam took a breath and nodded. “For now. But I won’t be for long.”

“You’re going through withdrawal.” Will said it as an acknowledgment, not an accusation. He didn’t ask whether there was a methadone equivalent for demon blood.

“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” Sam rolled his shoulders back and gave Will a weak smile. “But, we have to get out of here. Find someplace safe, away from people.”

“I might know a place.”

#

The thick layer of leaves crunched beneath Will’s boots as he followed Sam out of the car.

“I went fishing not too far from here, years ago. I remember seeing this place once when I took the wrong turn on the way back.” Will noted that the house looked only slightly worse for wear. One of the steps in the front had cracked, and the roof was sagging slightly.

Sam was already walking the perimeter, checking through the windows.

“It was raining so I stayed under the porch roof,” Will continued. “Doesn’t look like anybody’s been here since.”

“There’s a raccoon inside.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No. It’s just...” Sam’s voice trailed off as he went around the corner. He came back seconds later heading straight for the car. “Good. It’s got a storm cellar.” He opened the trunk and grabbed a duffel bag and a loop of rope.

“Help me get ready. Then take the car and go. Get as far away from here as you can. There’s cash in the glove compartment, three credit cards that should last you a few months.”

Will blinked at him. “Wait, what?”

Sam’s jaw twitched. “I’m sorry, Will. I want to help you, I do, but in a few hours I’ll be way more of a danger to you than the FBI.”

“The FBI...Sam, last night _demons_ tried to kill me. The FBI isn’t at the top of my list of threats anymore.”

“The demons won’t go after you once you’re away from me.”

“You sure about that?”

Sam looked like he was going to argue, but didn’t. He went to put his hand on his hip, but missed and opted for crossing his arms in front of his chest instead. His skin had taken on a slightly more greenish tint, and the bags under his eyes were blotchy and dark.

“At least, let me stay here, stand guard through the night,” Will said. “I’ve helped a friend through the DTs before.”

“This is worse,” Sam said.

“I’m not leaving, not until I know you’re good.”

“Will—“

“You saved my life, twice. The least you can do is let me try to help you with yours. We can say our goodbyes in the morning.”

“You have to tie me down.” Sam held out the bundle of rope.

“Being locked in the storm cellar isn’t enough?”

“When it gets bad, I’ll do anything to get a fix. I’ll make a summoning circle. I’ll call a demon here and either they’ll be in a body or they won’t be. If they’re not, they’ll possess you.” Sam met Will’s eyes. ”And whoever they’re in, I will drink them dry, and you won’t be able to do a thing to stop me. Still want to stay?”

“Yes.” Will kept his voice impressively calm. But he was certain—fairly certain—that half of Sam’s bluster was for show, exaggeration meant to scare him off. “You need...stuff to make the circle, right? Something to draw with? What if we take everything out?”

“I’ll bite open my skin and use my own blood as paint.”

Will swallowed. “Show me what knots to use.”

#

They’d brought out the old recliner from the house and set it to the right of the storm doors. Sam had poured a ring of salt on the leaves surrounding the chair, assuring Will that this would give him some modicum of protection along with the bag of pungent herbs he’d hung around Will’s neck. Under protest, Will had also accepted one of Sam’s many, many guns—a double barrel shotgun loaded with special bullets that should drive off demons if any did show up.

Will had experienced a great deal of pain in his life, not all of it his own. Every person had their own sound-bank of plaintive noises, their own orchestra of agony. Sam’s orchestra readied its bows at dusk and began to play in earnest just after the sun went down: moans and sputtered curses that gave way to the kind of disjointed shouts brought on by nightmares. Will made those sounds often enough himself to know.

Close to midnight, after a longer period of faint weeping, Sam fell quiet again. Will pulled his borrowed coat around him more closely and shut his eyes, just to rest them for a while. There was no chance he was falling asleep tonight.

A loud slam against the metal doors jerked Will awake. He knocked over the chair leaping to his feet and stood there, heart racing. “Sam?” he asked, inching closer to the door. Sam moaned in response, and by the sound of him, he was still in the middle of the room.

The doors quivered like a strong wind was pounding against them, as Sam cried out again. A clattering began from deeper inside the room. Metal pinging against metal, wood shattering against cement and for a moment, Will thought Sam was flinging the contents of the cellar around. But his sounds of pain told a different story. Those weren’t the sounds of a man throwing a tantrum, they were the forlorn wails of someone trapped in the center of a strangling, relentless storm.

“Sam—“ Will put his hands on the cellar doors, and he could feel his resolve slipping through his fingers. There had to be something else in there with Sam, hurting him. “Sam, I’m coming in!” Will shouted.

The lock felt warped, sticking where it hadn’t before.His fingers fumbled on the ice-cold sliding lock, and he scraped a thin layer of skin off his knuckles in his desperate rush to get it open. The doors themselves were mildly distended, like they’d been struck by a distant blast. Will threw them open and peered into the murkiness below. Sam had gone completely silent.

Carefully, Will took the first two steps down. The room inside was dark, save for the erratic flicker of the cracked light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Sam was still tied down to the workbench, and his eyes were open but he was dead still.

Worry turning to panic, Will ran down the rest of the steps and across the floor, and collided with a blast of force that thrust into him, sending him hurtling back out the way he’d come.

He landed roughly, legs, chest, hands and chin skidding across the ground. Blood welled in his mouth—he’d bit his tongue—and the stinging in his hands told him he was bleeding there too. Gingerly he pushed himself to his knees.

A branch behind him snapped.

The metallic taste in Will’s mouth grew stronger, and his racing heart didn’t so much slow as fall into a new rhythm—a stronger, steady one, bigger than his own. He could feel it growing inside his chest, pushing too much blood through his too small veins. His skin was tight and his bones were breaking, fine points of them shooting out of his back, piercing through his body that suddenly didn’t feel like his at all, because this skin was just a shell, and the real him was buried somewhere deep within his flesh and now it was _bursting through_.

Riding a crest of pain, Will bellowed into the darkness of the night and the voice was inhuman but it was his. And it was free.

##

Sam woke with his head full of lead and the taste of sick heavy on his tongue. He sat up, and waited for the world to stop tilting. With humiliating effort, he crawled to the corner of the room, where there was a water bottle—crushed from being tossed around by the psychic bleed of his detox, but still full.

He gulped down the bottle, wincing at the pain in his throat, made raw from retching. But the water did make him feel marginally better, or at least, more present.

With a shaky breath, Sam climbed the stairs and paused by the wide-open cellar doors. “Will?”

He stuck his head out, scanning the area. The recliner was where they’d left it, the salt line was unbroken. The shotgun had fallen, but there was no sign of a used shell nearby.

“Will?” Sam called again, scanning the woods. It was mid-morning, just before nine, based on where the pale sun hung in the sky. A piece of blue flannel on the ground caught his eye. It matched the pattern of the borrowed shirt Will had been wearing. A few steps further, Sam found the denim jacket he’d given Will. He picked it up, examining the holes in the back, and his heart began to beat faster; the holes were bloodied, but not singed the way bullet holes would be, and the sleeves and shoulders of the jacket were torn, like there’d been a struggle.

“Will!” Sam shouted, loud enough for his voice to echo in the canopy. He saw another, larger scrap of blue flannel by the base of a tree, and this one was streaked with dried blood.

The trail led Sam deeper into the forest, where the undergrowth was thicker. Luckily, it was mostly dry and brittle so the track became clearer, easier to follow. He broke into a jog, following the snapped branches until he came to a clearing. An outcropping of rock was just beyond, with a steep but not necessarily deadly fall down into the river below.

Sam stood, catching his breath, and saw a foot sticking out from behind one of the larger trees to his left. He walked closer, saw the other foot, the legs, the dirt and blood covering them. “Will?” Sam rushed to his side, dropping to his knees, immediately checking for breath. Will was alive, lungs and heart both working, but he was naked and filthy—skin covered in scratches, caked with dirt and blood. At first glance though, Sam couldn’t see any wounds deep enough to bleed that much.

“Hey, hey!” Sam said, shaking Will’s shoulder gently. He had no idea what had happened, but had to at least establish if Will could regain consciousness easily, or if he had injuries. From experience, Sam knew that would go a hell of a lot quicker if Will were awake.

Will woke with a startled gasp, eyes blown wide with panic. “Sam?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Will pinched the bridge of his nose and sat up, wincing slightly.

“Are you hurt?”

“I—I don’t think so.” He lowered his hand again, staring at Sam. “You look like shit.”

“Right back at you,” Sam said, mouth curling into a half smile with relief. “What happened?”

Will licked his lips, brow furrowing. “I have no idea.”

“What do you remember?”

“I remember you—you were screaming and there were...things crashing around, it sounded like a whirlwind caught in the basement and you—you didn’t just sound like you were in pain, you sounded like you were—“ Will swallowed. “Like you were being torn apart.”

Sam let out a huff. “Yeah, that’s pretty much what it feels like.” He scanned Will’s body again, but still couldn’t see any obvious injuries. “What attacked you?”

Will looked down at himself and only then did he seem to notice how naked he was. He pulled his knees up, hugging them in to his chest. “I don’t think it’s my blood.”

Sam covered Will’s shoulders and back with what was left of the tattered jacket. “Can you walk?”

Will nodded, took a moment to slide his arms into Sam’s jacket properly, buttoning the remaining buttons closed. The jacket was large enough on him that it went down to about mid thigh, giving him some modicum of decency.

As Sam helped Will to his feet, he thought he heard a bone pop, though Will showed no sign of pain, likely still in shock. Will looked up at him as they started to walk and asked, “Are you okay?”

#

“You’re burning up,” Sam said, as he held the cold washcloth against Will’s forehead, and Will pushed into his touch, eyes falling shut as his breathing started to even out. Sam had given Will a pair of sweatpants. Even with the cuffs rolled up they were too big.

“Hold it here,” Sam said, cupping his hand around Will’s and bringing it up to the cloth. He left him with the cloth and went to the cooler, grabbing a cold bottle of water. On the way back, Sam twisted off the cap and handed the open bottle to Will, who drank it down greedily.

"I’m sick. It’s a fever,” Will said, blinking up at him. It was more of a question than a statement.

"I don't think it's just a fever," Sam said, looking at the bits of fur and feather in Will’s hair.

Will brought the washcloth down to his chest, and tried to remove the tacky blood stuck to his torso. He’d been right—the blood wasn’t his. Where he cleaned the blood off, his skin was undamaged. "What's happening to me?" Will asked, shivering. He set the washcloth on the table and looked up at Sam.

"I’m not sure, yet. What do you remember?"

“My name is Will Graham, it’s...” Will looked at his wristwatch. “It’s 10:30 am, and I’m in...I’m in Parkton, Maryland.”

“That’s right,” Sam said.

“I think I—I had a dream. One where I felt myself change. Physically.”

“How?”

“It was like...being born. My skin splitting open, something...erupting from deep inside. My bones breaking and then healing again in a new configuration and I—“ Will paused, looking at his hands. “I was hunting, chasing something that didn’t stand a chance.”

“You caught it?”

“I _devoured_ it.” Will smiled then, a baring of teeth, with no warmth.

“What was it?”

“I’m not sure. Prey.” Will laughed bitterly, curling his head down. “I can feel chunks of it in my gut.”

A glint of something black and thorn-like caught Sam’s eye. “You’ve got something on your back. Here, let me...” Sam reached his arm over Will’s shoulder and tried to pluck it off his skin, but it was stuck. He grabbed hold with his fingertips and pulled; the thick black strand came out of Will's skin coated in clear slick liquid, and as Sam pulled, the exposed part expanded. Sam tugged harder and it came free with a soft pop.

“Ow!” Will winced.

“Sorry.” Sam sat back in his chair and held out the black feather. “This was...in your back.”

Will took the feather from Sam, finger-pad pressing against the hollow tip of the quill. _“We wanted their feathers to bud from our flesh.”_

“Was that Atwood?”

“A few hours ago, I had hundreds of these.” He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled out a rectangular strip of brown. Cupping it in the palm of his hand, he held it out to Sam. “Antler velvet. Pretty sure that’s mine too.”

Sam nodded, understanding setting in despite the deepening mystery. “You remember...changing?”

“In my dreams, I see it all the time. Watching me—from inside of me. A stag, with black feathers instead of fur. It feels what I feel, it knows...what I am.” Will laughed again sharply. “But I don’t.” He looked up at Sam. “What am I?”

“Not sure yet,” Sam said. “Based on what we know so far you could be a shifter of some sort, maybe similar to a werewolf, rugaru, or a lamia.”

“I know what one of those three means. You telling me werewolves are real, too?”

“Just about every cryptid you’ve heard of has some basis in fact.”

“Cryptid. Isn’t that just a fancy word for monster?”

Sam cocked his head, considering before he answered. “A monster is determined by their choices, not their biology.”

“Hmm.” Will nodded. “I’ve met enough human monsters to agree.”

“If you let me run a few tests we can try to...narrow down your biology.”

“Tests? Like a CAT-scan or an X-ray to see if I have any more feathers buried beneath my skin?”

“Nothing like that.” Sam went to his bed, rummaged through his duffel bag for his silver knife.

“Oh.” Will drew back, eyeing the knife suspiciously. “That kind of test.” He swallowed.

“I just need to hold it against your skin. No cuts, no blood.”

“What happens if I fail the test?” Will asked, as he rolled up his sleeve.

“Then we keep looking.” His eyes caught Will’s, as he pressed the flat edge of the blade to Will’s skin. Nothing happened. No sizzle, no bubbling of skin, not even a wince of pain from Will. Sam pulled the knife away. “Maybe not,” he said. He wasn’t disappointed, but as much as he’d have liked to convince himself, he wasn’t entirely relieved either. Knowing what Will was would help them both.

“Is that good?“ Will asked. “What does that mean?”

“It means we look for a different answer.” Sam set the knife down. “Research more: hit the books, check online.”

“You’re going to check books and the internet to see why I turned into some kind of animal last night?” Wills eyebrows crept up. “While you’re looking, see if you can find a way to get me off the hook for the murders I didn’t commit.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Been a while since law school, but I’ll see what I can do.”

Will laughed. “You’re joking. You’re a super-powered demon hunter and a lawyer?”

“Former law student.” Sam smiled. “Sorry.”

“I’ll take what I can get,” Will said. “For now, what I’d really like is a shower.” He stood, legs looking steadier, and headed for the bathroom.

“I’ll round up some breakfast. Think I’ve got some instant coffee and protein bars in the car.”

“Sounds like a feast.” Will said, closing the bathroom door behind him.

Sam walked out of the cabin, toward the car. The air had warmed slightly, but there was still enough of a chill that Sam could see his breath before it dissipated.

He rummaged through the trunk of the car, pulled out the pack of dried goods, another few bottles of water and one of his old makeshift hunter’s journals—a Stanford notebook—that he hadn’t fully finished transcribing into his laptop yet. He had notes in there about types of shape-shifters. Maybe there’d be something helpful.

Will could tell him more about his legal troubles too. Maybe he could help somehow. Maybe—

A branch snapped behind Sam; he went completely still, listening. Peering over his shoulder, he saw a deer, paused mid-step, watching him.

With a short exhale of relief, Sam closed the trunk of the car and made his way back to the house. As he opened the door, the shower turned off, and Will came out of the bathroom in sweatpants, towel-drying his hair. He looked right past Sam, out the door and said, voice low. "He's here."

The fear in Will's voice sent a shiver down Sam's spine. "Who?" Sam asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer. If Hannibal had framed Will for his crimes, then he not only had a vested interest in ensuring Will was recaptured, he was also extremely dangerous. Heart racing, Sam turned and stepped back outside, hand hovering by his gun. "Stay here." It was unlikely Will would listen.

Sam heard the nearly imperceptible whistle of the dart moments before it struck his leg. “Will!” he called out as another struck him in the chest. “Run!”

Will bounded out of the house, and off the broken porch, into the depths of the woods, leaving triple image trails of himself behind as time slowed and Sam’s world tunneled in on itself.

#

The scent of fallen leaves; twigs stabbing at his back.

Sam forced his heavy eyes open. He was being dragged across the ground, a thick rope tugging at his feet and bound wrists. He struggled to sit and saw the back of the antlered man—the wendigo—dragging him. Dragging _them_ , he realized as he caught a glimpse of an unconscious  Will, not far behind him.

The wendigo paused, scenting the air. Sam took the opportunity to yank hard on his bonds, knocking their captor off balance. The wendigo stumbled back and whipped around, glaring at Sam with eyes as pitch-black as the rest of him.

It brought its knee crashing down against Sam’s chest, hard enough that something inside snapped. A broken rib was nothing new to Sam, certainly not enough to keep him from fighting back. He brought his bound fists up and around, catching the rope around the Wendigo’s neck and jerked down hard, using the leverage to pull himself up.

They struggled, too close for either to deliver a proper blow and the thing let out a bellow that echoed through the woods around them.

Improvising, Sam flipped the wendigo on its side, grabbed hold of one of its antlers and pulled back until he had enough space to put it in a headlock. The wendigo, or whatever it was, was strong, and any superhuman strength Sam had gained from the demon blood had vanished along with the sweat and bile of withdrawal. He held on as long as he could, but the monster overpowered him and slammed the back of its head crashing down against Sam’s.

#

The familiar sound of a knife blade against a leather strop roused Sam from his drugged sleep. Disoriented, he searched the room for Dean. But he wasn’t in a motel room, he was in a small, thick-barred cage, barely large enough to hold him, shoulders pressed against the back, hands and feet still bound, legs drawn up to fit. His feet were bare, toes wedged uncomfortably between the bars. The room was dimly lit by a small lamp mounted to the back wall. The only other illumination came from the paper-thin frame of sunlight bleeding around the shut door.

To Sam's left was another cage holding a still-unconscious Will. He had a few more inches of room than Sam, and was laying in his side, face turned towards Sam’s cage.

A man with antlers was sitting in the middle of the room, sharpening the blade. He wore an expensive herringbone vest with matching pants. But he was bare-foot, or bare-hooved, Sam realized as his vision came more into focus. As he watched, the hooves undulated, changing slowly back into the shape of human feet. The antlers atop the man’s head retracted, and hair grew out of his scalp.

“Doctor Lecter,” Sam said, as the man’s facial features became clear.

“Agent Morse, was it? Or...should I call you Mister Winchester?”

“Why are you doing this?” Sam asked, as he started working on his bonds. It was an expertly tied knot. But he’d gotten out of worse.

“Everything was in place. Will was where he needed to be. Even after he escaped. But you interfered.” Hannibal pulled the blade across the strip once more and held it up, testing its sharpness with his thumb. He tasted the drop of blood with his tongue, looking towards Will. “I'd hoped to be there for his first change. It was beautiful, was it not?”

Sam swallowed. “I only saw him afterwards.”

Hannibal went still and he looked back to Sam, eyes narrowing. “He was alone?”

Sam stopped himself from explaining that he’d been otherwise occupied. The less Hannibal knew about Sam, the better.

“That’s very disheartening, Sam. He gave you his trust, and you abandoned him when he most needed guidance.”

“Guidance?” Hannibal seemed deadly serious, but Sam didn’t have a clue what he meant.

“I brought him this far. I fed him flesh, I showed him the truth of what he is.”

“And what’s that?”

“Higher up on the food chain. Like you and I.”

“I’m not like you.”

“Are you sure?” Hannibal inhaled. “I smelled it on you when you came into my office months ago, and it’s still there now, despite your attempts to rid yourself of it.”

“You said you smelled sulfur.” Sam could feel heat rising to the tips of his ears, a flush of angry shame.

“Sulfur and human blood.” Hannibal cocked his head to the side. “You may dislike what you are, but that doesn’t change your nature.”

“It’s not my nature. It was done to me. And you did this to Will.” Sam’s voice climbed, and he raised his chin, the little that he could in his constricted prison. “I’ll figure out how to help him, clear his name and put you behind bars.”

“Will you now?” Hannibal smiled, slow. “I suppose I should thank you. You’ve narrowed down my options considerably.” He stood, holding the blade out to the side.

Will woke with a startled gasp, meeting Sam’s eyes before he turned and saw their captor. “Hannibal—stop! Stop!” He grabbed the bars and growled as something dark, thorned and curved exploded out of his back: antlers, pushing their way through his skin.

Hannibal ignored Will, heading straight for Sam's cage. He lifted the blade, metal catching the sliver of sunlight coming in through the door-frame. And then he froze.

 _Everything_ froze.

Will's mouth was open in a soundless scream, Hannibal's arm was pulled back, and even the dust motes in the air stayed exactly where they were.

The temperature in the room plummeted, and the sound of wings buffeted through the air.

“There you are.” Lucifer smiled down at Sam, a slow curling of the lips, sharper than Hannibal's glinting blade.

“Sorry I didn’t come sooner, Sam.” He crouched in front of the cage, peering through the bars.

Edging back as far as he could, which wasn’t particularly far, Sam's shallow breaths turned frost white. This close, he could feel the cold radiating from Lucifer.

“I sensed you nearly two hours ago, when those pesky wards hiding you from me broke.”

Without intending to, Sam curled his elbows carefully over his broken ribs.

“Your safety is my top priority, of course, but I was...in the middle of something.” Lucifer wrapped both of his hands around the bars of the cage, and the rusted steel frosted over instantly, ice spreading outwards from his touch. He let go of the cage and with a flick of fingers, the whole thing shattered, crumbling like it was made of sugar-glass.

Sam's legs shifted, freed from the bars, but he stayed where he was, and looked Lucifer straight in the eyes. “I won’t say yes.”

Lucifer scoffed. "Not today. But there's no rush. I just want you to know that I'm here for you. Whatever you need, Sam."

"I don't want _anything_ from you," Sam said, anger clouding his voice.

"You will," Lucifer said, turning to survey the rest of the room. He leaned down to get a closer look at Will. "My, my. Look at that face. No wonder you ran off with him."

"Leave him alone," Sam growled.

"Sure you don't want my help? I could fix his...condition," Lucifer said, straightening.

"No."

"As you wish." Lucifer turned to Hannibal. "Now what are we going to do with you?" Grabbing Hannibal by the chin, Lucifer leaned in closer, examining him like a specimen. “Aren’t you an interesting thing. I think we should get to know each other better."

Part of Sam—a very small part—felt like he should tell Lucifer to leave Hannibal alone too. But considering what he had done...

“Be seeing you,” Lucifer said, turning to give Sam a wink. With the sound of wings and a flash of cold light, Lucifer and Hannibal vanished.

Sam slowly let out a breath, and the world began to move again.

Will's pained shout reverberated in the now empty room. He let go of the bars, convulsing, as the still-growing antlers caught on the bars, pushing against them, bending them.

Sam scrambled to his feet and ran to Will's cage. The lock was open, Lucifer's doing, no doubt. Sam pulled off the lock, yanked open the door and reached for Will, whose skin was scalding hot. The antlers were moving up towards the back of his head and the skin of his back was pock-marked—black feathers bursting through the holes. Gently, Sam put his hand on Will's shoulder. "It's okay. It's over. He's gone."

Will turned to Sam, his eyes solid black. It looked so much like demonic possession, Sam felt a strange reflex to use his powers, though he had neither the fuel nor any reason to believe it should work. Instead, he moved his hand slowly up and down Will's arm, repeating, "He's gone."

The black bled from Will's eyes, and the antlers began to withdraw, sinking back into his skin. He crawled out of the cage, but only got halfway out before he collapsed, panting heavily, skin slick with sweat. "What...what happened?" he asked, confusion and fear in his voice, clutching at Sam's jacket.

Sam pulled Will closer to him, wrapped his arms around his shivering back and buried his face in Will's hair, breathing in the scent of earth and blood.

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy the read? Consider a reblog [on tumblr](http://monicawoe.tumblr.com/post/170515719068/the-shadow-of-the-beast-monicawoe-supernatural)


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